Undisclosed
by Carina487
Summary: Helena Ryer never thought that her life could get any more messed up but that was until she was asked by her boss Mycroft Holmes to babysit his younger brother. Sherlock/OC maybe a little OOC
1. What have I done?

**A/N I do not own any of the characters associated with Sherlock Holmes they belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I also do not own the series Sherlock.**

_Prologue_

Three years ago there was a man, a brilliant man who saw everything, some say that that was his curse, his downfall but now I know that it was his ability to care that ruined him. Three years ago I had just finished the second year of my mathematics degree at Cambridge, I was hoping for a future teaching in the subject at a university nearer my childhood home in Derbyshire. Unfortunately, even if I didn't know it back then, the fact that a genius detective had supposedly committed suicide at St. Bartholomew's Hospital would change my future dramatically and perhaps change it for the better.

_Present Day…_

I had been staring at the message on the whiteboard for an hour already and I was no further forward in decoding it. There was no doubt that this Moriarty had been a mathematical genius, for two weeks I had been trying to decode the strange message using every code imaginable. I had run it through countless programmes and even they seemed to shy away from the words, which sounded vicious even if they were encoded. I knew that this man was dead and so were most of his accomplices that were part of his web, there was however still one that had eluded practically every secret service agent in the world. Sebastian Moran was threatening to be even worse than his idol James Moriarty ever was, perhaps because he was driven by revenge whereas Moriarty was driven solely by boredom.

With my degree in mathematics I could have done anything, I could have taken a high profile job in a bank, I could have been a politician but instead I chose to accept the job proposal that was delivered by a man in his forties who carried an umbrella, not the best choice I had ever made. When Mycroft Holmes offered me a position on the cryptology team here in the British government I accepted immediately seduced by the thought of James Bone style escapades. I'll admit sitting in an office staring at words did not live up to those fantasies and neither did my home life. I shared a modest apartment in central London with my friend Mabel Lyon who also happened to work for Mycroft as a personal assistant even though she had a degree in art history from Cambridge. So to sum up my life at this precise point, well, I was bored, I was tired and I was pretty sure that my flat was shrinking. No seriously that thing is the opposite of the TARDIS; it is not bigger on the inside.

I went back to looking at the message again only to be brought out of my thoughts by someone clearing their throat behind me. I spun around on my chair to see Mabel standing with an impatient look on her face. "Mycroft would like to see you in his office, don't ask me what he wants I don't know. What I do know is that he's been sneaking cake again, I think he's a stress eater." She trailed off when she saw what I was working on.

"I've been working on it non-stop for months now, I just don't understand what they mean. Maybe it's some sort of code only known by Moran and his accomplice, who knows. Well better not keep Mycroft waiting any longer." I walked down the maze of corridors which lead from my office to Mycroft's; sometimes I was glad that I had an office far away from the main space. At least I was able to get some peace and quiet which unfortunately was not a luxury that Mabel possessed. She knocked on the large oak door that lead into Mycroft's office and then showed me in with a strange look on her face as if she knew that something was going to happen. I entered the dark room and stood awkwardly beside the desk that dominated the room. "Sit down Miss. Ryer." He pointed absentmindedly to the leather chair in front of the desk; I sunk down into the leather feeling slightly trapped and claustrophobic. "I understand that you have worked for me for a year now Miss. Ryer, is that correct?"

"Yes." I paled slightly at the tone of the conversation, it sounded awfully like a 'you're fired' conversation.

"I have a proposition for you, I know that you wish to complete a PhD in your chosen field of mathematics but you do not have the funds to complete it. As you know my brother has recently returned to his normal life after being in hiding for three years and I need someone to keep an eye on him. Therefore I would like you to attend to him and in return I shall allow you to complete you PhD after one year of service. Will you do this?" He looked up from the document he was reading and caught my eyes.

"Well, I suppose I have no other way of raising the funds myself." I stuttered through the sentence before I realised that I had just agreed to essentially babysit his brother in return for the chance to complete my education.

"Excellent meet me at the main entrance at precisely 2pm."

_2.15pm at 221B Baker Street…_

I found myself being lead up a staircase, with each step I took I regretted my decision even more. Mycroft swung open the door to the flat which apparently contained his brother; I nervously followed Mycroft into the room to see a grown man of around thirty years of age lying on a sofa with a silk dressing gown. "Sherlock I would like you to meet Helena Ryer she will be your new 'assistant' if you like." The man on the sofa sighed and rolled over so that he was facing the wall.

"I don't need an assistant brother dear; now leave me alone I have a very important case to attend to." The man's baritone voice seemed to echo around the small flat and I realised why this man had managed to acquire a very large female fan base over the years.

"You are not working a case, for if you were you wouldn't be lying around in your dressing gown. Miss. Ryer will be keeping an eye on you for the next year, I'm not taking any chances this time around I won't have another national disaster. Miss. Ryer I will leave you here with my brother to get acquainted." He turned to leave before I had a chance to take back my acceptance.

"You may as well just leave." He turned to face me and looked over me. I crossed my arms over my chest subconsciously.

"Does it bother you that I'm here?" Instead of answering me he chose to grunt and go back to facing the wall. "I'll just sit down over here then."

**A/N I will try to make regular updates but I'm also working on another fanfiction at the moment called 'Heartlines'. Thanks.**


	2. The Hated Violin

**A/N I do not own any of the characters associated with Sherlock Holmes they belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I also do not own the series Sherlock.**

It has been a week since I was first assigned to look after Sherlock Holmes; the day had begun as always with a phone call from Sherlock at three in the morning asking me to get his phone, wait for it, from the other side of the living room in 221B. This was of course followed by a long string of insults as I dragged myself out of bed to get ready for another day of hell.

When I arrived at 221B I found the front door open and there was a trail of blood leading up the stairs. Fearing the worst I rushed up the stairs towards the dreaded flat only to find Sherlock sitting at the kitchen table dissecting what looked like a pigs heart, I let out the breath that I had been holding. "What are you doing?" I placed my coat on the back of the door and my handbag on the floor beside one of the chairs hoping that he wouldn't slip another eyeball into it as pay back for me taking away one of his toys.

"Do you have eyes Miss. Ryer?" He asked without looking up from what he was doing, I ignored the question and went to sit down on one of the chairs. Any desire to have a cup of tea had evaporated when I had walked into the kitchen. I pulled out my notebook from my bag and continued working on decoding a message that had been received last night. It was unusually quiet in the small flat that was usually filled with the noises of Sherlock's latest scheme.

"I take it that you don't have a case, perhaps they've finally realised that you're just not as good as that new detective on television. What was his name again?" I feigned thinking really hard whilst glancing at Sherlock to see him scowling; he murmured something under his breath. "I'm sorry what was that I didn't quite hear you."

"His name is Richard Castle and he's not a real detective." I smiled to myself if there was one thing I enjoyed about my job it was the chance to annoy Sherlock and get my own back.

"Oh, I beg to differ I think he's solved more cases than you have. I mean it took you two days last week to solve a murder, I think you're losing your touch." He had somehow managed to remove the nitrile gloves he had been wearing and move to stand in front of me without me noticing.

"I am not losing my touch; now please remove yourself from my chair." I looked up from my notebook and mouthed the word 'no' then went back to my work like nothing had happened. "Move!" I didn't even blink when he shouted at me, a week with this man had taught me that he may look like a thirty year old man but he was a five year old child inside.

By the time Dr. John Watson walked into the flat Sherlock was in the process of trying to pick me up and remove me from his favourite chair while I was hitting him repeatedly with my notebook. "Girls, what have I told you about fighting?" At this Sherlock stopped all attempts of moving me and turned to face his companion.

"Ah John, did you get any milk?" John sighed and hung up his coat before turning around tell Sherlock impolitely that he had not picked up any milk, at this Sherlock stormed off to his room to sulk there.

"I don't know how you've put up with him for this long John, I really don't. Has he always been like this or has he only begun to behave this way since the fall?" I put my notebook back into my bag and turned my attention to Dr. Watson.

"No unfortunately he's always been a sulky sod, in fact I'm pretty sure that this is the best behaved he's been since the fall. Has he been doing an experiment again? I wish he'd clean up after himself, poor Mrs. Hudson has a heart attack every time she ventures into the kitchen. How are you doing with your new job?" He sat down in his chair after removing the book that had been flung there in another of Sherlock's fits.

"I never thought I would miss working in my little office but I'm starting to. I'm used to eccentrics my mother was an archaeologist so I was always being shown strange things." My mother Sabrina had never been a constant in my childhood, she always seemed to be in some exotic country somewhere digging up something that was more important than me. My father however was a dentist and therefore he was always around when I was a child. Even now I rarely spoke to my mother except for the customary birthday phone call or the awkward visits at Christmas. Sherlock strolled back into the living room having changed into his pyjama bottoms, a grey t-shirt and his blue dressing gown. "Sherlock it's nearly the afternoon, go and put some clothes on." As soon as the words had escaped my mouth I cringed at how much I sounded like my father, Sherlock of course ignored me and picked up his violin.

For the next five hours I sat in the flat trying to work over the dreadful sound Sherlock seemed to be making with the violin. Now don't get me wrong I absolutely love classical music and I knew that he could play extremely well, he was just doing it to annoy me and to get revenge for my torments before. John had escaped long ago, making up some excuse about a washing machine. My grip tightened on my pen as I tried to control my anger, he would not get the better of me. He stopped the noise suddenly and I looked up startled by this development. "The message cannot be decoded because it isn't in any code; it is in fact an ancient language." Ordinarily I would have thanked him for his input but the fact that he was now pointing the violin bow at me and I snapped. I snatched the violin and bow from his hands, picked up my belongings and stormed out of the flat.

"Consider this violin confiscated." I shouted up the stairs trying to out run Sherlock and reach the door before he did, luckily I got through the door and managed to hail a cab. When I reached my flat I noticed that I had a grand total of fifty missed calls from Sherlock and thirty texts, I opened a new page in my notebook and wrote the title 'The List'.

_The List:_

_ Watson is definitely more than a friend._

_ violin is now a prisoner of war._

**A/N Thank you.**


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